the lengths that I would go to, the distance in your eyes

[pointzerothree]

It's a long few days that pass after the conversation in which Mark could only tell the truth. Eduardo tries not to think about it, at first (and fails, but that's beside the point), not about to share those forced truths and figuring that Mark will come to him when he's ready, just as Eduardo said he should. Having been the one to screw up this

Comments

[zuckered]

Life goes on. It's a universal truth

[pointzerothree]

There's a moment, watching Mark watch his computer screen, where Eduardo almost turns around and walks away again after all. If he's doing this for nothing, then there's no point in doing it, or at least there shouldn't be, and there are days when it feels like he's poured so much energy into Mark and their friendship that he doesn't have anything left to give. He stays, though, not needing more than that second's hesitation, smiling timidly at the side of Mark's head as he takes a seat on the other side of the couch, a few feet separating them. Under any other circumstances, maybe he wouldn't have bothered trying (or so he can tell himself), but the difference between this and probably several other past similar incidents is that this one is entirely his fault, a conclusion that he's reached over six days of thinking it over. He was angry and he was provoked, maybe, where lack of words could even count as provocation at all, but he could have held his tongue, didn't need to lash out when he had to know, on some level, that it would

[zuckered]

It's the apology that suddenly feels familiar. Just the ghost of it, sounding very much like a certain phone conversation the both of them shared, when Mark accused Eduardo of being just that- angry, hurt, needing a voice. Suddenly, it feels like he's able to map out the process that loops between them, the way that Eduardo always seems to snap a little after falling behind, after being brushed off. It's the sort of thing that Mark might find commendable- but sometimes it's hard, because what comes out of Eduardo's mouth or what actions his hands take in such a fired moment is some mixture of truth and emotion. The emotion's the problem. Emotion is truth and a lie all at once, mixed together, perception and vision altering with colors and exaggerations, but only as a result of feelings buried deep in a person's chest. In their heart. The problem then lies in the fact that Mark honestly has difficulty differentiating one from the other, that Eduardo probably does as well, because if there's one thing Mark's sure of, it's the fact that

[pointzerothree]

Even as he speaks, there's a gravity to Mark's closing the laptop that Eduardo can't ignore, the barely familiar weight of having Mark's full attention, with or without his gaze, heavy on his shoulders. Regardless of the words that follow, that in itself is proof of how necessary this is. The times Mark has done this, set his computer aside to focus on whatever conversation the two of them might be participating in, Eduardo is pretty sure he could count on one hand (an exaggeration, probably, but that's what it feels like, anyway), and he's struck not for the first time with the sense that he doesn't know what to do when that's the case. The fight, the battle for attention, for recognition, to come first, he's used to; it's one he always loses, but even that is comfortable, giving him a reason to continue trying harder, all the while resigned to the fact that he'll never win. Now, whether or not Mark chooses to look at him - and, really, that can't make a difference when his own eyes are trained on the glass bottle between his knees,